American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  Richmond and Carolyn returned to Dove’s Landing feeling, not exactly triumphant for the victory had not been theirs, but relieved beyond measure and gratefully humbled by the experience. With the six hundred dollars contributed by the Muellers and Brannons, the total inside the milk pail was determined to be $12,117.89, which, with the interest that had accumulated, turned out to be $93.13 in excess of what was due on all four notes. The judge ordered that the thousand dollars in damages be paid then and there, with the result that, instead of returning to Greenwood penniless, they still had the milk pail, and it contained $1,093.13.

  Richmond immediately gave all his own people immediate raises and without the quarterly burden of the payments to his cousins was able to offer better pay to blacks coming through, such that by the following spring, Greenwood again had enough workers to prepare, plough, and plant what they hoped would result in a bumper harvest and at last right the wobbly ship of Greenwood’s bank account. Richmond would not keep the local blacks’ widows’ mites in the face of Greenwood’s bounty but would return it pressed down, overflowing, and shaken. God had done his work, to increase the faith of them all. Now it was time again to give, out of their blessing, to those for whom the little they had given represented a small fortune. Most took the gifts with gratitude, and even more convinced than ever that Richmond Davidson was no ordinary man.

  But when he made the same attempt to his friends Brannon and Mueller, they would have nothing of it.

  “What,” said Brannon, “would you deprive me of the blessing that comes to those who give? Surely you, Richmond, of all men, understand the principle of the centurion when applied to giving and receiving, that we are called upon both to give and receive graciously and with humility. It is a great privilege to give. Allow me to reap the fruit of my gift as you use it and spread the leaven of giving in the lives of others.”

  Humbled anew, and knowing his friend was right, Richmond smiled and nodded in appreciative gratitude.

  No more words were spoken. The two men embraced. Then Richmond, blinking hard, turned and mounted his horse to begin a quiet and prayerful ride back to Greenwood.

  The events of the service and the collection and the paying of Greenwood’s debts had overshadowed for a time Cherity’s own personal troubles. But the moment Richmond and Carolyn departed for Richmond, the dreadful memory of what she had witnessed in Boston returned in full force upon her. It was as if she had awakened from a nightmare to discover that—horror of horrors!—the bad dream had been true after all.

  Yet by now enough time had passed that she found herself beginning to doubt what she was certain at the time that her eyes had seen. She relived the few moments over and over in her brain. The two individuals she had seen were some distance away, and on the opposite side of the street… and it had been years since she had seen Veronica. Nor could it be denied that, in having to deal with the matter of the house, her mind had been almost completely absorbed and preoccupied with the past, with her father… and with Seth and the time he had spent with them in Boston.

  Surely… of course, that was it!—her brain had been playing tricks on her. She had only imagined it to be Seth and Veronica.

  It couldn’t really have been them. Hadn’t she heard that Veronica and her husband were off in Europe somewhere?

  And Seth… he wouldn’t have been anywhere within several hundred miles of Boston. He was off with the army somewhere.

  How silly of her!

  If only she hadn’t been so impulsive and started crying and run off, she might have stood and watched until the two people had come closer. To have seen their faces close up and known beyond any doubt that they weren’t Seth and Veronica… she could so easily have avoided all this heartache.

  Slowly Cherity began to breathe more easily. It was not a matter of immediately erasing the image from her mind—that wasn’t easy… she had been so sure! Yet by degrees as the days passed she managed to convince herself that all was well, and that she had not seen what she thought she had seen.

  Fifty-One

  More than a month passed before Cecil Hirsch again contacted Veronica. Their last interview had unnerved, and also angered him. But eventually the time came when he could not get by without her services. It was finally time to put Veronica’s determination to the test. He sent her a message to meet him. He had another assignment for her.

  Wanting Seth to remain on hand until the thing played itself out, McClarin had Seth photographing sites around Washington and planned to run a series showing readers their first realistic images of the capital city. Seth’s photos were gaining popularity in Boston. Mr. McClarin was now setting up a second display in the Herald offices as advertisement for the paper. Seth and Veronica saw each other frequently and Veronica invited him to the house at least once a week for dinner. During that time Seth and Richard struck up a friendship, though as yet Veronica had not divulged to Richard her problems with Cecil Hirsch.

  Hirsch found Veronica already seated inside Garabaldi’s when he walked in. He approached and sat down opposite her holding a thick packet.

  “I need you to go to Atlanta,” he said. “The city is in shambles and virtually deserted, but something big is in the works. I may even give you the third you wanted for this one.”

  “Is that the delivery?” she asked.

  “It is.”

  Casually Veronica reached across the table and slowly drew it toward her.

  “But then, as I told you, Cecil,” said Veronica calmly, “I will be through. This will be the last delivery I will make for you.”

  “Come, come, Veronica,” said Hirsch. “I assumed that by now you would have come to your senses. Have you forgotten what I said I would do?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t think you will try to expose me.”

  Hirsch smiled. “Can you take that chance, Veronica?”

  “I am willing to.”

  “Look, Veronica, if you refuse me, I will go straight to the Post. I will tell them that I have information implicating the wife of Richard Fitzpatrick in passing information to the Confederacy. The public is always more than ready to believe that their governmental officials are corrupt. And the beautiful wife of a diplomat—it is too juicy for words. They will believe it in a minute. So don’t push me too far. Now here are your reservations,” he added, taking a small envelope out of his pocket and handing it to her. “Wait at the hotel until you are contacted. The same password as before. When you return, you be ready for your next assignment. There will be no more talk of your getting out until I am ready.”

  Hirsch rose to go. As he turned toward the door, however, he saw a young man approaching who looked vaguely familiar.

  “Sit down, Mr. Hirsch,” said Seth, walking up and staring straight into his eyes. “You and I have something to discuss.”

  “Who are you?” asked Hirsch irritably, the smile vanishing from his face.

  “My name is Seth Davidson.”

  “I have never heard of you, and have nothing to discuss with you.”

  “But I have heard of you, Mr. Hirsch. Veronica has told me a great deal about you. I know all about your activities.”

  Cecil spun around and glared at Veronica. As he did, Veronica quickly handed the packet to Seth.

  “Hey, give me that!” cried Hirsch.

  But Seth took a step or two back. Hirsch saw that he was at a disadvantage and would likely not be capable of overpowering the fellow by force.

  “I think you might want to listen to what he has to say, Cecil,” said Veronica. “You threaten to go to the newspaper about me… well this man is from the newspaper. Perhaps you would like to tell your story to him. Of course, I already have. He knows everything, Cecil.”

  Flustered momentarily even in the midst of his anger, Cecil glanced back and forth between the two, then slowly sat back down. Seth took a chair and sat where he could see both the others. Now for the first time Cecil noticed a second thick envelope in his hand. Seth set it down on the ta
ble in between them.

  “I am a photographer, Mr. Hirsch,” he said. “I am also a friend of Veronica’s. She and I have known one another for years—far longer than your acquaintance with her family. I work for the Boston Herald, mostly photographing the war. More recently I have been photographing a very interesting series of transactions between you and she, and between Veronica and a certain Mr. Smythe of Columbia.”

  By now Hirsch’s face was red with wrath.

  “Therefore, before you make any attempt to implicate Veronica,” Seth went on, “you should give careful consideration to your own prospects. What I have here,” he said, laying his hand on the envelope, “is incontrovertible proof that you have been engaged in spying against the Union, and against the Confederacy. You have been playing both sides, Mr. Hirsch. I understand it has been quite lucrative for you. There is probably nothing we can do about that. But this, along with the envelope you just gave Veronica, are enough to put an end to it.”

  “A few photographs… what do they prove?” said Hirsch smugly. “You’ve got nothing on me!”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mr. Hirsch,” said Seth. “You see, it is also possible to photograph documents.”

  The word dropped around the table like a bombshell.

  As Hirsch absorbed the implications of Seth’s statement, he looked toward Veronica shaking with passion.

  “You… you opened the packet!” he seethed. “How dare… why you slut—”

  “Careful, Hirsch,” said Seth, reaching out and laying hold of Cecil’s arm. His grip was tight and the command in his voice unmistakable. “Another word like that and you will have to answer to me. What Veronica has done took courage, far more courage than the slinking about of a coward who would profit from deceit.”

  “You dare call me a coward?” spat Hirsch.

  “You are a coward, Hirsch,” returned Seth. “You prey upon women in their weakness. You lie and deceive for your own gain. Yes, you are a coward. Veronica has shown more courage than I think you are even capable of.”

  “You are a fool if you think anyone will believe her! I have contacts in high places.”

  “Your contacts will mean nothing alongside what is in these envelopes. The documents in your recent transactions were completely photographed and are part of the evidence that will be used against you along with this,” he added, patting the envelope he still clutched under his arm that Hirsch had just brought, “if you make any move against Veronica.”

  “Don’t make me laugh!” chided Hirsch. “You will never get away with it.”

  “I think you are wrong. It might also interest you to know further that, as those documents would have proven damaging to the war effort, they were replaced with documents which we had falsified and which Veronica then passed on to your contact, Mr. Smythe. I am certain, they have already discovered the information to be useless and are assuming you to have double-crossed them.”

  “How dare you—” began Hirsch.

  “You are finished, Hirsch,” interrupted Seth. “Your contacts on both sides will think you have played them false. No one on either side will trust you again.”

  Hirsch jumped to his feet in a rage.

  “You think you are clever,” he cried. “You think this is the end of it. But you have not heard the last of me.”

  He turned to Veronica, shaking his head contemptuously.

  “I could have done so much for you, Veronica,” he said. “Look at all I have already done, and now this. I will ruin you, Veronica. What do you think your devoted husband will say when he learns what I have to tell him? You will pay for this folly!”

  He turned and stormed out of the restaurant. Seth and Veronica sat a few moments in silence.

  “He’s right,” said Seth at length, “he could make it very unpleasant for you.”

  “I know,” smiled Veronica a little sadly. “I intend to talk to Richard and tell him everything. But Cecil has to be stopped, and I have to get free from his clutches.”

  “What do you want to do?” asked Seth.

  Veronica drew in a deep breath. “Take me to the authorities,” she said. “I am ready to make a full statement. Then I think Mr. McClarin should run the story in your paper.”

  “I will telegraph him this afternoon.”

  “But please… you won’t say anything to anyone until this is over. I need time to tell Richard in my own way.”

  “Of course, I promise.”

  “Unless it is your father. I don’t mind what you tell him.”

  Again it was silent.

  “Once the story does break, Washington might be uncomfortable for you,” said Seth.

  Again Veronica smiled, a little sadly.

  “I have thought of that,” she said. “If they don’t put me in jail, I think I will go back to Oakbriar for a while—just to put all this behind me. My mother is there most of the time now. It is peaceful. It will give me the chance to think about everything that has happened. What about you?”

  “I will see what Mr. McClarin wants. He thinks the war may be coming to an end before long. He wants me in the thick of it.”

  “Oh, Seth, it frightens me to hear you talk so. You will be careful?”

  “Always.”

  “Do you have to leave… immediately?” asked Veronica.

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “I’m still afraid, Seth. I am afraid of Cecil, I am afraid of them all. I know it is a great deal to ask, after all you’ve already done, but, after I’ve made my statement and all this is behind me… would you take me home—to Oakbriar I mean?”

  “Talk to Richard first. If he thinks that is best, I will tell McClarin I need a few more days.”

  Fifty-Two

  Her trip to Boston had been emotionally draining for so many reasons. But at last Cherity put it behind her and began to breathe more normally again. The sunshine of her natural optimism returned and she once more radiated the sparkle of a happy countenance.

  The passage of time always helps send away the doldrums. The most important factor in Cherity’s new outlook, however, was the simple realization how foolish had been her worries and fears. She had let her silly girl’s imagination run away with her.

  It had been some time since she had taken a long ride just for the sheer enjoyment of it. Her mind had been so weighed down since Boston that even the few rides she had taken were sad and thoughtful. Now she decided to go out and ride and ride and ride until she could ride no more, and just enjoy being alive in the midst of God’s creation.

  She set out about eleven o’clock on a bright early September morning. Though this particular morning had dawned chilly, by the time of her departure it was warm enough to ride without a jacket or coat.

  Instead of riding immediately east and upward into the hill country as was her normal custom, Cherity set out in a westerly direction along the river, then wound her way through the open pastureland and expansive valley that stretched out south for miles, gradually completing a huge arc slowly back eastward into the gently rising foothills. She stopped several times to drink from one of the many streams she encountered, and to allow Cadence to drink and graze. By the time she found herself clomping slowly along the ridge of Harper’s Peak from the far side on her way back to Greenwood several hours later, she was weary with the glow of a peacefully tiring day.

  Thinking of Seth, as she usually did up here, hoping he was safe, and upbraiding herself yet again for her impetuous reaction in Boston to a complete stranger, she climbed to the summit, then stopped and gazed all about her. It was just like she remembered it the first time she and Seth had ridden here together—the town of Dove’s Landing in the distance to her right, the Beaumont plantation at the base of the ridge in front of her.

  She recalled their suspicion that it had been Denton Beaumont snooping around the Brown house when Chigua was there. She was glad the senator was gone. Even though she had never met him, from what she had heard, she didn’t trust him.

  From
the direction of town, the movement of a small buggy in the distance caught Cherity’s eyes. It was pulled by a single horse and, unless she was mistaken, was bound in the direction of Oakbriar.

  A premonition swept through her. She had heard the far-off whistle of the train on its way into town ten or fifteen minutes before. The sound was so familiar she had hardly taken notice of it. Why would she think that perhaps Denton Beaumont had returned home? If he was back, Mr. Davidson ought to know it before his neighbor did any more snooping around looking for things that were none of his business.

  She dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and galloped off the ridge and down in the direction of Oakbriar.

  Keeping to the woods, and watching for any of the Beaumont workers, especially Elias Slade, she covered the ground rapidly and was just coming out onto level ground when she again spotted the buggy about half a mile away. She had been right—it was on its way to Oakbriar!

  She didn’t really care whether Denton Beaumont saw her or not. Yet it would be a little awkward trying to explain herself. And her presence here would probably reflect badly on Mr. and Mrs. Davidson, so she should keep out of sight. She slowed her pace, guided Cadence back amongst the trees, then took a course similar to that of the road in the direction of the Beaumont plantation. The buggy was not moving fast. If she stayed ahead of it, she ought to be able to get a good look at its occupant where the road wound briefly through the woods.

  Reaching the spot, she quickly dismounted, tied her reins to a branch, and ran toward the road and took a position behind a tree large enough to shield herself from sight. Three minutes later, she heard the approaching clomp, clomp, clomp of the horse’s hooves and the rhythmic clatter of the buggy along the road. She took off her cowboy hat and set it down behind her so it wouldn’t give her away poking out behind the tree, then peered around the trunk.